Starting Over
by Pir8grl
Summary: The 12th Doctor is forced to say goodbye to Clara, but there's someone else waiting to try and heal her heart.


The court physician eyed his sovereign and liege lord surreptitiously as he moved about the stateroom, carefully monitoring the vital signs of his patient. Emperor Ludens Nimrod Kendrick Cord Longstaff XLI had barely eaten or slept in the days since that strange blue box had appeared on the Imperial Flagship and the tall, silver-haired man had stumbled out, cradling a lovely, dark-haired girl tenderly in his arms. The girl was under his care now. He sincerely hoped that the Emperor could be persuaded to retire to his own stateroom for a period of rest and refreshment before he had two patients on his hands.

"Are you certain that she's all right?" the Emperor asked for what was easily the twentieth time. He held one of the girl's hands clasped loosely in his own.

"Yes, Majesty. Her readings are nearly normal. She should waken naturally soon. If you wish to return to your stateroom, I can dispatch a messenger as soon as there's any change."

"No," the Emperor replied firmly. "I won't leave her to wake up all alone. I'm the only person she knows here."

"Of course, Majesty," the physician replied diffidently.

The girl's head turned on her pillow, and her small fingers clutched reflexively at the hand enfolding hers. "Doctor?" she murmured.

"No, Clara," the Emperor told her, his quiet tone completely at odds with the wonderful boyish grin that spread over his features. "It's me, Porridge."

Clara's eyes blinked open slowly. "Porridge?" she asked in confusion. "Where am I? Where's the Doctor?"

She tried to pull her hand back, once she realized it wasn't the Doctor holding it, but Porridge tightened his grip, cradling Clara's hand in both his own.

"You're aboard my flagship, in your stateroom."

"My what?"

"Stateroom. You get one when the Imperator of Known Space creates you an Imperial Grand Duchess."

"I'm not an Imperial anything," Clara stated flatly.

"You are now," Porridge assured her. "The Doctor entrusted you to my care, and the very first thing I did was to officially make you a member of the royal family. Granted, there are a few I'd rather not be related to myself, but I think you'll love my cousin Sissy."

Clara waved her hand vaguely in his direction, wincing her eyes shut against a sudden headache. "Porridge. Why do I need to be part of the Imperial Family? What's happened to me? And where is the Doctor?"

A servant appeared with a plate of fruit and a glass of water. Porridge pressed the glass gently into Clara's hands.

"Here. Drink this - you need some fluids, I'm sure, and I'll try to explain."

Clara sipped her water and tried to focus on Porridge's words.

"The Doctor brought you here because you were ill - deathly ill. He thought we had suitably advanced medical science to help you, and fortunately, he was right. I placed all the medical and scientific resources in this sector at his disposal, and we were able to save you."

Clara blushed slightly, refusing to meet his eyes. "But why am I still here, if I'm all right now? And where is the Doctor? Why would he leave me alone if I was so sick?"

Porridge reached out and took the empty glass from Clara, gathering her hands into his own. "He had no choice. You see…it was him that was making you sick. Literally."

"No…" Clara moaned brokenly, tears streaming down her face.

The physician stepped over and bowed. "Majesty. Your Grace. If I may?"

"Yes, of course," Porridge replied.

"Your Grace, you'd been exposed to a massive dose of Artron energy. The situation was correctable, provided there was no further exposure to the particles. Unfortunately, the gentleman who brought you here, and the blue box that he arrived in, were fully steeped in the substance. No further contact was possible, without risk to your life. I am confident that Your Grace will make a full recovery now."

"Stop calling me that!" Clara said sharply.

"May we have some privacy?" Porridge asked, the command covered in tones of utmost courtesy.

The physician and other assorted servants and assistants bowed silently and filed out.

"He promised me…on Trenzalore, he _**promised**_ me he wouldn't send me away again," Clara sobbed.

"I know," Porridge said gently. "He told me. I've never seen anyone plunge into research as resolutely as the Doctor did when he was trying to save you. And I've never seen anyone so heartbroken as him, when he realized that the only way to save your life was to give you up." _Until now_, he thought, his own heart cracking a little inside his chest at the sight of her tears.

"And…I can't ever go home again?"

"No, Clara. I'm so sorry, but you can't. It would mean exposing you to more Artron energy. It could kill you."

"I'll never see my Dad, or my Gran, again."

"No. But you can have a new home, here."

"With you?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't like that, but you told me no, once before, and you've been through a great deal. You'll have an apartment at the imperial palace, of course, but you're free to set up your own household, anywhere you like. You can travel, you can study…anything that's in my power to give, it's yours."

Clara felt her heart break all over again at the forthright sympathy and affection in his eyes. "Oh, Porridge…those are just…things…"

"I know. And I know that things can never replace what you've lost, but at the very least, I can make you comfortable. You will let me do that, won't you?"

"I'm being horrid, aren't I?" Clara murmured, reaching for his hand.

"You're grieving," Porridge corrected gently. "You're entitled."

"He didn't even say goodbye."

"He couldn't. But he did leave you a message." He passed Clara a small data player. "You press this button, here. Would you like to be alone?"

Clara nodded slowly, and Porridge stood from his chair. Her voice called him back before he could quite leave the room.

"Porridge? Please…don't go far."

"Of course."

* * *

Clara pressed the button, and a wavering, translucent, three dimensional image of the Doctor appeared before her. His usually pristine white shirt looked as though it hadn't been changed in days, and weariness lined his features. It was his eyes, though, that clearly showed the weight of all his centuries.

"Hello, Clara," he began, then stopped, frowning. "I…I don't know what to say. Bit rich, coming from me, I suppose." The image of the Doctor sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know how much you'll remember when you wake up, so I want to tell you that we did save Gallifrey. You and I, Clara, we saved my world. We pulled it back from the pocket universe it had been hidden in, and placed it back in its proper place in this universe. We were hailed as heroes, by some of my people, anyway, but you know I've never much cared for that sort of thing. I got us away from all that as soon as I could. Before we left the planet, though, we found a meadow in the mountains that had gone untouched during the War, and we had a picnic there, in the red grass, beneath trees with silver leaves.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so beautiful as the sight of you, smiling, with the breezes of my home world blowing through your hair." The Doctor's voice faltered then, and he blinked furiously to stave off tears.

"Well…you know me. Never can stay in any one place for too long. We left Gallifrey, and I noticed that you seemed to fade, for lack of a better word. You became alarmingly ill very quickly. I couldn't take you home; Earth in your time doesn't have sufficiently advanced medical science yet. Then I thought of our friend, the Emperor. Turns out, his people did have suitable technology to figure out what was wrong with you. And it was my fault. Again.

"You see, when we released Gallifrey from the pocket universe, an enormous amount of Artron energy was released. My people have evolved to handle it. You haven't. I…I was killing you. Just by being around you. I couldn't even say goodbye properly, or touch you, one last time, without risking your life further. You have no idea how much I…regret that. My Clara. My Impossible Girl."

The Doctor paused, gathering his thoughts. "A very long time ago, I had to say farewell to someone else that I loved very dearly. I told her to have a fantastic life. And Clara, that's what I want for you. There are many people who would have taken you in, for my sake, cared for you and kept you safe, but I want more than that for you. I want you to have a wonderful life, to be happy and loved. Porridge is a good man, and he cares for you, very much. I think, perhaps, some day, when you've healed from all this, and forgiven me, perhaps you might come to care for him, too. Please promise me you'll try."

The Doctor's insubstantial hand reached out, as if to cup Clara's cheek, and a broken-hearted wail escaped her lips.

"I won't ever forget you, Clara Oswald."

* * *

Porridge paced the corridor outside Clara's room. He could hear the murmur of the Doctor's voice, but steadfastly refused to listen closely enough to focus on the words. And then the voice stopped, and all he could hear were her sobs. He sighed, and tapped lightly on her door.

"Clara? May I come in?"

There was a muted mumble that he took for acquiescence, and he stepped inside the room. Clara was curled into a little ball of misery in the center of her bed. Porridge returned to his chair at her beside, settling in with a rather undignified little hop. He sat silently for a long time, staring at his hands, clenched in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he offered finally. "Is there anything…anything at all I can do to help?" There was no real reply, but Clara's sobs seemed to be lessening, so Porridge continued to speak in a soft, even tone. "You've suffered a very great loss, and nothing can ever really make up for that, but I want you to understand, you'll always be safe, and have a home here, even if you don't want to stay with me. But if you do…well, I asked you a question, the last time you were here. The offer still stands. I've quite a large empire, and I'd like nothing better than to show it all to you, and maybe, someday, share it with you."

Clara slowly turned on her side to face him. Even with tangled hair and a tearstained face, he still thought her lovely.

"I still can't give you the answer you want. Not yet, anyway. But right now…I could really use a friend."

"I think that would be a great place to start," Porridge said, with a warm smile that tugged the ghost of an answer from Clara.

Shyly, she reached out her hand, and he was happy to take it. He hoped he'd never have to let go.

* * *

The man in the blue box had spent his entire life running, never stopping in one place for too long, and rarely looking back. But in this one matter, his own ship sought to confound his long standing habits. Every so often, the Doctor would look at a monitor, thinking to check coordinates or some such, and instead, he'd find an Imperial Media Broadcast.

The Emperor and his lovely companion dedicating a new university. The Grand Duchess Clara and the Grand Duchess Sissy reading with children in an orphanage. A headline that read "Queen of the Universe," above an image of Clara in a stunning royal blue gown, with a sapphire and diamond tiara. And the latest, a royal birth announcement heralding the arrival of the Crown Princess Ellie.


End file.
